The Isobel Swan Diaries
by ElsieFinch
Summary: "So, I'm moving in with my Dad, who, despite his adorably cliché role as a small-town police chief, is a pretty nice guy and still has all of his own hair. He's got a spare bedroom for me and I can try and get some decent grades for college acceptance. Now there's a fork in the road that will need a whole lot more thought than this one." Oh yes, it's a Twilight Rewrite.
1. Chapter 1

fork (_fôrk_) n.

1. A utensil with two or more prongs, used for eating or serving food.

2. An implement with two or more prongs used for raising, carrying, piercing, or digging.

3. a. A bifurcation or separation into two or more branches or parts.

b. The point at which such a bifurcation or separation occurs: a fork in a road.

c. One of the branches of such a bifurcation or separation: the right fork.

-  The Free Dictionary Dot Com : Fork

I suppose the name of the town is kinda poetic in a way. Sunny ol' Phoenix, Arizona, or gloomy little Forks, Washington - a fun and special biographical bifurcation just for me.

Here's Fork 1 - Stay with my Mom and her new husband Phil as we trot around the country following the man's baseball team. Attempt to home-school self via internet whist living in a succession of too-small hotel rooms with the two of them whilst they enjoy some more of that glowy middle-aged post-marital bliss they've got going on.

And Fork 2 - Move in with my Dad, who, despite his adorably cliché role as a small-town police chief, is a pretty nice guy and still has all of his own hair. He's got a spare bedroom for me and I can focus on my final year of high school to try and get some decent grades for college acceptance. Now there's another bifurcation that will need a whole lot more thought than this one.

Don't try and make me do another paragraph on the trusted Debate Team dictionary analysis of the other meaning of 'Fork.' Fingers crossed this next year won't include a single instance of piercing, stabbing or pronging with any number of tines. I could add an aside about potential body modification because honestly, the piercings and tattoos that some of the girls on the forums have gotten recently are intriguing, but a) needles scare the crap out of me and b) I figure at 17 I still have plenty of time to brainstorm other ways to piss off my parents and estrange future employers. Perhaps the dual nipple piercings can wait until college.

If I were a writer of terrible self-published erotica I'd segue here into a line about how my nipples tingled with anticipation as I stepped onto the plane, bound for my titillating new life. Since I'm just a writer of the occasional overwrought English essay and I'm not terribly excited about the prospect of my new perceived persona as the goody-two-shoes-cop-kid, I'll steer away from lines like that. Mainly it was just sort of awkward and a little bit stuffy as I tried to decide whether to smile at the flight attendant and ask for direction or be cool and aloof and find my own seat, and I ended up just smiling too early and ducking my head as I passed her and then went too far down the aisle and had to back up. Businessy dude behind me in a hurry to get to his seat was unimpressed.

The new jacket Mom had bought to keep me warm and dry in Forks was ridiculously large and I picked the wrong split-second decision when I ducked in to my seat - instead of stashing it up in the overhead lockers I was now forced to ball the massive thing up and keep it in my lap for the four-hour flight. I shoved it down as best I could between my white pointy elbows and opened up the slightly battered Anais Nin book I'd purchased at a used bookstore on my last day in town. I'd seen her name flung around the forums before and I was mildly curious, so for $2, why not?

The seatbelt sign went on. The plane started moving. It was me and my fancy friend Anais for the next few hours.

Yeah, I probably should have checked Ms Nin up on Wikipedia before all of my fellow commuters saw me with my face buried in incestual erotica. If I held it higher, could the book perhaps cover my burning cheeks? My newfound knowledge of carnal lore wasn't going to make the upcoming one hour drive with my father any less awkward.

I'd forgotten Police Chief Charles Swan had been cultivating the beginnings of a moustache the last time I'd seen him. Now here it stood in full and majestic bloom, squatting reverently on my father's top lip as he waved at me from the Arrivals gate.

"Isobel!" The moustache widened slightly as Charlie - I mean, Dad - smiled. "Hey, sweetie."

"Hey, Dad," I managed meekly as I tried to hide the book inside the folds of my big olive-colored jacket. "It's good to see you."

He nodded. Ten points if you guess correctly which side of the family my awkward comes from. I'm not sure, back in the times when people first decided last names would be a good idea, how anyone related to Charlie and I could have decided the name Swan worked for their family. Aside from the fact that we're pale and long-necked, the two of us have nothing in common with those big elegant birds. Maybe my squawky voice was more handed down from the Swans than Mom's side, like I always figured.

Charlie made little clicky tunes with his mouth as he led me out to the parking lot where his police cruiser was parked. We stuffed my two bags in the trunk of the car and strapped ourselves in wordlessly. Charlie was the first one to speak as we pulled out the airport lot onto the highway.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap."

"Oh, wow," I said, surprised. "Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

"Well, I can't drive you around all the time. It's a little more rural out here than I know you're used to. I thought having a car of your own would be useful."

It was possibly the longest string of sentences I'd ever heard him say. I smiled.

"It's a truck actually, a Chevy," he continued, surprising me again. "My old friend Billy Black down at La Push didn't need it any more and he offered to sell it to me cheap."

I vaguely remembered the man and his son, who we'd been fishing with once or twice near their reservation when I visited Dad during the holidays.

"That was kind of him," I said. "How is Billy?"

"Ah, not too great," Charlie said, distractedly checking his rear-view mirror as a loud sports car slowed to a crawl behind us. At least being in the cruiser prevented people road-raging on you. "He's in a wheelchair now. His son Jacob, you remember him, good boy, he's taking care of his Dad. He's said he's looking forward to seeing you again. Jacob, I mean."

Last time I'd seen Jacob he was foot shorter than me with a long black ponytail and squeaky voice. I figured he probably looked and sounded a lot different at 15. Still...

"It'll be nice to have a friend here already," I told Charlie. He nodded, and we settled into a comfortable silence for the rest of journey in to Forks.

The small town we drove into couldn't have been more different to the big hot city I'd left behind. Everything seemed almost unnaturally green and lush - the trees were covered in cushiony moss and big, dinosaur-era ferns sprouted from the ground. Forks, my research told me, was the wettest town in America. The moist air and perennially grey skies were always a nice change from the desert-salty air of Phoenix. I'd probably get sick of it after Week 3, but for now, Forks seemed like it might be a good, quiet place to finish up my last year in high school.

The old red pick-up that Charlie had picked up (hurr hurr) looked solid as a rock (a big, red-painted rock) as it hulked in the driveway of the little two-bedroom house that my parents had bought in the salad days of their marriage. The truck definitely had character - I felt like I should give it a big, solid name to match, but quickly tossed out the idea and name (...Montague perhaps?) after deciding that I might be getting too old to anthropomorphize everything I owned. Once I'd clambered out of the police cruiser and stomped my feet to wake my legs up, I gave a slap to the big curved fender of the truck and grinned as I heard the dull metallic thunk in response. "This is so cool."

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly as he heaved my backpack onto his shoulder. "Oof - what've you got in this one? Bricks?"

"Close enough," I said as I grabbed my suitcase out of the trunk and slammed the lid shut. "We may need to invest in a bigger bookshelf for my room."

Despite my personal library, it only took one trip to get my stuff upstairs. My old nursery had only changed slightly since last time I'd lived here full-time - the crib had switched out for a cast-iron bed and a wooden desk had been squeezed in one corner near the recently-installed phone jack. I unloaded my laptop and plugged it in straight away. Dial-up internet was something I'd have to deal with. At least Charlie had finally seen fit to put an extension in the room, so that I wouldn't be downstairs hogging the kitchen bench and phone line like I had for the last two holidays.

I shuffled the vinyl dining chair out from under the desk and dragged the old rocking chair over in its place, propped my feet up on the desk and sat my laptop on my thighs. I leaned back and let familiar old David Bowie croon to me about life on Mars whilst I pondered how the next day at my new school would go.

It might be like life on Mars. Everyone in Forks knew each other and their families, and maybe I'd be a glamorous unknown quantity for a little while. That's now it goes in all the books and movies right? New school, new start. I could be anything I wanted.

What did I want? Mostly I think I was just looking to be same old me. Perhaps there was school paper I could join - maybe do music reviews, wanky book reports. Maybe there was a band? I'd never played in instrument before, but why not start? Surely knocking off a Nirvana cover on the acoustic wouldn't be so hard. Surely finding a group of fellow nerds to eat lunch with would be easy enough. Surely I could become a useful part of the student body with little to no fuss.

Oh, that's never how it goes in movies.

So, tomorrow at school might be tough. That was okay. At least my decision was now behind me and I could look forward to getting some shit done with my life instead of trailing behind my mother, picking things up after her. At least Charlie had that down. So many years alone, he'd learned to look after himself. It'd be nice to be strong and independent like him.


	2. Chapter 2

It rained all night, and I slept better than I had in ages. Still, fighting a wobbly nervy stomach and first-day excitement, I was up relatively early to prepare myself for the Big Day. Today, the oversized green jacket that I'd found so annoying yesterday looked... well, I had to begrudgingly admit, pretty cool over the top of my favorite red sweater and paired with my trusty skinny jeans and boots. Sort of a bit mod, like the guys in that movie Quadrophenia. I pulled some shapes and tough pouty faces in the bathroom mirror before remembering I didn't have my own en-suite anymore and my father could walk past at any second. I could hear him in his room now, grunting in a comfortingly Dad sort of way as his alarm went off and he slapped his hand down on the squawking plastic radio and rolled over in bed.

So I still had the bathroom to myself for a bit.

The red sweater always bought out a bit of color in my ludicrously white skin, something I'd sorely need in the constantly damp and overcast conditions here in Forks. I did take a peek out the window as I got dressed, but no surprises - foggy, and drizzling just enough to be uncomfortable. Perfect.

I was finishing up a bowl of slightly stale muesli (was it left over from last time I'd visited? Most likely, considering from the brief perusal of the yellow kitchen cupboards I'd discovered Charlie seemed to only keep a stock of instant coffee and tins of assorted manly-type dinners doused in tomato sauce) when Charlie entered the kitchen, resplendent in full cop uniform.

"Chief," I saluted.

Charlie rolled his eyes and pulled his jacket from the hook near the back door. "You have a good day at school today, all right?" He pressed a quick kiss to the top of my head as he passed.

After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three un-matching chairs and examined the small kitchen and attached handkerchief-sized family room. Over the small fireplace was row of pictures - first a wedding picture of an embarrassingly sideburned Charlie and my uber-hairsprayed mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born. Charlie looked like he'd just had an unexpectedly short haircut and his ears stuck out without the sideburns to accessorize them. Mom was exhausted-looking, perm slightly flat but eyes still radiant, and I was a tiny angry pink face bundled up in a yellow blanket. A procession of my school photos followed, every year up to last year. The bangs in '97 had been a bad idea, but the Care Bears t-shirt in '94 was an excellent sartorial decision on my part.

Attempting to kill time, I returned to the kitchen, located some scissors and cut a little moustache shape out of a Sears catalog that was laying on the bench, then popped back over to the fireplace and attached the moustache to hospital Charlie with a dab of water. Perfect.

And that had killed all of... two minutes. I sighed. I guess it wouldn't be so bad to be a little early for school - I still had to find it, locate the office, and get my class schedule and whatever else my first day required before even getting to class.

I grabbed my backpack and new keys, locking up the house and jogging quickly through the mist to my truck, which unlocked with a satisfying _chunk_. I heaved myself up into the tan upholstered seats and surveyed my new domain, biting my lip to keep from smiling too wide. My truck. It was big and, I realized as turned the key, grumpy and noisy, but nice and clean inside despite still smelling faintly of tobacco, gasoline and peppermint.

Even though I had a potential friend in Jacob Black, I remembered as I backed down the driveway, he attended school on his reservation rather than the local high school. More the bummer, although it probably wouldn't bode too well for my coolness quotient if I hung around a freshman on my first day.

The school wasn't too hard to find, a bunch of quaint red brick buildings demarked by the large 'Forks High School' sign (which some enterprising person had tried to adjust to 'Fucks High School' by scratching out the appropriate lines, and another person had tried to fix, but not quite effectively enough). After parking near the office (demarcated by a similarly painted but happily unmolested sign reading 'School Office') I tripped up the hedge-lined path and stumbled inside.

A red-haired woman in a purple t-shirt raised her drawn-on eyebrows at me from behind the counter. "Can I help you?"

"Hi!" I said, a bit too loudly. "I'm Isobel Swan. I'm starting here today?"

Her small eyes brightened behind her glasses. "Of course." She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk and brandished a stapled bunch of sheets. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school."

I watched as she pointed out the buildings I'd need, the classes I'd be attending, and gave me a slip for each teacher to sign. I smiled at her as she held out the papers for me to take. "Thanks," I said, noticing her nametag, "Mrs Cope."

"Oh, not at all," she said politely. "I hope you like it here in Forks."

"Me too," I said, before nodding awkwardly at her round, smiling face and letting myself out.

By now, it looked like other students were arriving as my truck had gained a couple of newish Camrys and Accords as neighbors, and a stream of older, shittier cars with salt stains was rolling down another driveway towards the back of the school. The thunderous noise of my truck when I started it up didn't seem too out of place but its loud idle seemed to echo the noise of my thumping heart as I pulled into the student lot.

Okay, I told myself, stuffing the map and schedule into my backpack and rubbing my clammy hands on my jeans. Not a big deal. Just a new school. They're just a bunch of normal people. Probably boring people, after some of the freaks we had in Phoenix. Nothing to worry about.

Building 3 (how literal) was marked with another big painted sign which was a blessing. I fiddled with the inside lining of my jacket pockets as I tried to casually saunter into the hall with everyone else, but it was short-lived as I realized everyone was removing their coats and hanging them on a long row of hooks inside the classroom. I followed their lead and then anxiously pulled the slightly scrunched pieces of paper from my bag to show the teacher.

Mr Mason was a tall, unfortunately balding man whose face brightened when I introduced myself, although thankfully he didn't bother announcing me to the class (possibly my worst nightmare about this day - what would I do? Wave and say "Hi everyone!" Ugh) and instead sent me to a table at the back of his English class.

I slumped gratefully into my chair and went about setting up my desk with paper and writing materials organized neatly, centered and exactly perpendicular to the edges. A few of my new classmates turned surreptitiously to glance at me in the back, and my face twitched with tiny smiles each time that sent them hurriedly staring towards the front again. I must have looked like I had a creepy nervous tic. Maybe I did, because the little nervy smiles continued even after the glances had stopped, until after about ten minutes I settled down enough to pay attention to what Mr Mason was saying and check the reading list he'd given me.

Bronte (yay!), Shakespeare (eh), Chaucer (oh no), Faulkner (okay). I'd read most of it before, but perhaps I could regurgitate some of my previous excellently feminist arguments on the concept of romantic predetermined destiny and how it relates to both Misses Capulet and Eyre.

Perhaps at least the schoolwork wouldn't be bad.

When the bell rang, a gangly dark-haired boy leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Isobel Swan, aren't you?"

I turned to raise an eyebrow and gave him a 'not bad' smirk. "News travels fast in this town."

"Where's your next class?" the boy asked eagerly.

"I'm not sure," I said, pulling the schedule from my bag. "Hm... Government. Building six?"

The people at the desks surrounding us were lagging behind, pretending not to eavesdrop. Geez.

The boy pulled at the twin tabs on his backpack confidently. "I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way. I'm Eric, by the way," he said, jutting his chin out.

I smiled tentatively. "That'd be great. Thanks, Eric."

We grabbed our jackets and stepped out into the rain.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" He asked, walking slightly closer than was necessary.

I shook my head and smiled, amazed. "You're just full of information, aren't you?"

Eric shrugged.

"It's pretty different," I allowed slowly. "Smaller. Sort of..." I held up my hand to demonstrate the weather, "wetter."

"You'll get used to it," Eric assured, as we rounded the corner of the building marked 'Cafeteria' and headed towards the one marked '6.' At least I wouldn't stay lost for long on this campus.

"Well, good luck," Eric said, as I moved ahead of him to the door. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed," I told him as I stepped inside and shut the door.

The rest of the morning passed quickly, and the girl who sat next to me in Trig and Spanish - Jessica - was kind enough to invite me to sit with her at lunch.

After we shuffled through the lunch line I took a seat beside her, looking out over the rest of the cafeteria. Not that Jessica was awful, but I was kind of interested to be the one looking out for a while. People-watching is always interesting, and especially in this new environment where I had yet to make friends. Were there any stooped kids playing Magic: The Gathering in a corner? A punk group of feminazis discussing Siouxsie Sioux? Perhaps a mixed gathering of people in decent band t-shirts chatting comfortably about comics and not watching me or making awkward chit-chat with their painfully teenage crush?

No such luck.

Forks High School students, it seemed, were almost dangerously drab.

Not that that's bad at all, I admonished myself. Maybe I'd been setting my sights too high, trying to find the perfect group that I'd fit into as effortlessly in real life as I did on the internet. Jessica and her friends seemed nice enough. I was turning back to face them when I noticed the perfectly dour profile of a pale, lanky, slightly ginger guy on the other side of the cafeteria.

His face was classically proportioned, his hair was carefully tousled, his shirt sleeves were rolled up roughly and he carried in his thin shoulders an air of 'I don't give a fuck.'

That's hot no matter what sort of guy you're into.

I nudged Jessica. "Who the crap is that?"

Her mouth turned down a little, probably because of my casual profanity. I made a note: that sort of thing probably didn't fly so much around here. But then she slumped and sighed a little when she saw who I was looking at.

"That's Edward Cullen. Don't even bother."

The boy's head turned slightly - had he heard Jessica's lowered voice? Impossible - he was halfway across the room. Probably just peering over at Forks High's new recruit. Heh. Forks High. I still couldn't take the name seriously.

The boy and I locked eyes for a second.

_Look all you like_, I told Edward Cullen in my head. _You know you want this giant green parka with straggly hair._

He looked away quickly. I shrugged at Jessica.

"Sounds like a challenge."

Jessica shook her head quickly. "He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good looking enough for him."

"Maybe he's gay," I suggested. He _was_ impeccably groomed.

A shrug from Jessica. "He and his family are so weird."

I noticed Edward was sitting with three other people who shared his gorgeous skin and sour face. Foster children, Jessica explained, all of them. The blonder two were brother and sister and, along with the big buff guy sitting with them and another girl, they'd all been adopted by a doctor and his wife. They were relatively recent arrivals to the Forks area, which may have explained why I'd never noticed Mr Edward "Do Me" Cullen in my holidays.

Oh, shush. I can't help but objectify hot people. Yes, I spend too much time with guys on the internet.

Biology was after lunch, and a shy friend of Jessica's named Angela was kind enough to walk me to class. The tables in the science classroom were tall and black, with two stools on each. I hesitated after introducing myself to the teacher - a mild-mannered bespectacled Mr Banner who I tried not to imagine hulking out - and noticed that the only seat left in the small classroom was smack in the middle of the sea of benches.

Right next to Edward Cullen… who was glaring at me furiously.

What a glorious bastard. I bit my lip to hide my smile and stumbled down the center aisle, making a friend on the way when I tripped over something on the floor and almost landed in a girl's lap.

"Hi," I said to Edward airily as I slid into my chair and thumped my book down in front of me.

He didn't respond. I flicked him a sideways glance.

Edward Cullen's beautiful face was twisted in a hideous mask of hatred. His slender hands gripped tight onto the base of the desk, his shoulders leaned as far away from me as he was physically able to do without falling off the stool.

What. The. Fuck.

I shuffled my chair closer to the desk and a little further away from Edward, letting my hair fall down beside my face to give me a little curtain to block out his reaction.

That was unexpected. Maybe I reminded him of a near-forgotten ex who'd ripped his heart out? A sister who'd died brutally in a car accident that was his fault? Surely not even those reasons would cause a reaction so horrific. We'd caught eyes at lunch not ten minutes earlier and he'd calmly ignored me. I flipped open my textbook, pulse racing and face warm. What on Earth was his problem?

As the class dragged on - cellular anatomy, something I'd just finished studying back home - I couldn't help but glance at my neighbor, each time noting something different.

The hand not holding his pen had moved to his thigh, and was clenched in a fist, tendons standing out under his light skin.

The corded muscles on his forearm were similarly tensed.

His feet were fixed, perfectly clean sneakers cemented to the stool's crossbar.

Edward sat, still as a statue despite being warped in an uncomfortable position, pale-skinned and as perfectly formed as a goddamned Rodin sculpture in designer clothes.

As soon as the ball rang he pushed back his chair and scooped up his books in one smooth movement, then dashed from the room.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I wish I always made such a strong impression on gorgeous men, I thought. The opposite sort of reaction would have been nice, but still.

I tried to suppress a shudder at Edward's furious face as it popped back into my head.

Ugh.

I blinked, and a smiling blonde-haired boy's face appeared in my vision instead. I jumped.

"Aren't you Isobel Swan?" The boy asked coolly.

"Uh yes," I said automatically, still shell-shocked from the most intensely awkward experience of my life.

The boy grinned. "I'm Mike."

"Ah," was all I could manage.

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

I shook my head quickly to dispel the thoughts of Edward. "Yes! I mean, uh. No. It's okay." I presented my schedule to him like a kid showing off a new artwork. "I have gym. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." Suave Mike continued.

I pursed my lips and nodded slowly. "Well. Show me the way to the gym."

Mike chatted the whole way, which luckily was brief. As he held open the gymnasium door for me, he gave an orchestrated little laugh. "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

I tried to prevent my eyebrow from rising. So, someone else had noticed how weird the guy had acted. All I could do was shake my head when no response came to mind. "I don't know, Mike." I paused. "Maybe he just really had to poop."

Mike cringed.

(Rule 1 of 'How To Be A Suitable Girlfriend': Never talk to guys about bodily issues. They don't know how to parse it when a girl makes a fart joke.)

Luckily, after introducing myself once again to the teacher, I wasn't required to play volleyball with everyone else today. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to whatever gods were looking over me this period, and pretended to watch with interest as two groups of 17 year olds flailed around the room and nearly brained one another with unexpected elbows.

After the final bell, I trundled through the cold wind back to the office to hand in my paperwork. The sharp breeze gusted in behind me as I turned and tried to push the door closed, and the two voices - one low and male, another frustrated and female - silenced as I pushed my hair back from my face and straightened up, forms in hand.

"Never mind," Edward Cullen told the receptionist in a clipped voice. "I can see that it's impossible. Thankyou so much for your help."

For the second time this afternoon, he hid his face from me, practically running from the room and closing the door quickly behind him.

"Well," the receptionist said, briefly stunned. She took a second to gather herself and smiled up at me. "How did your first day go, dear?"


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of my first week in Forks passed relatively smoothly. I started learning more names in the group that I'd come to sit with at lunch, I was settling into the school routine and reckoning my way around the small town in my big truck. There wasn't a school paper (too small for that, my lunchmates had reasoned, everyone already knew everyone else's business because there was absolutely nothing else to do or talk about) or a gaming club or a band, although there was a guy who gave guitar lessons at his very dilapidated house a block away from the campus. I decided to pass.

Charlie and I were on our way to becoming excellent housemates after I realized he couldn't cook to save his life. I'd taken on the duty of feeding us every night, and between that and homework and a few guilty hours of tooling around uselessly on the internet every night, I kept myself pretty busy. The rain let up once or twice to give me a glimpse of the grey sky, and after about twenty confusing emails, my mother (who does not know how to use a keyboard properly) had come to accept that I might actually be happy in small-town Forks, something she had never been.

There was just one thing (aside from Suave Mike's constant chattering companionship - obviously I'd need to work harder to steer him away) that was frustrating me.

Edward Cullen hadn't been back to school.

It wouldn't have been so bad, except that there was a dismal lack of eye candy at this place. I saw the rest of the Cullens in the cafeteria every day - two dark heads and two lighter ones - looking alternately aloof and haughty whilst sitting at their table, which the other students seemed to give a wide berth.

Maybe the guy had actually had a bad stomach bug on that afternoon in Biology, which might have explained the exquisitely pained face and tense body. Perhaps he'd been stuck at home the entire week throwing up, because there was no way - honestly_ no way _- that he could be avoiding me. Right? He'd never even spoken a word to me, and all I'd tried to say was hi.

It was a surprise the next Monday when I was setting up my table in Biology and the chair beside me pulled out. I gasped and raised my head like a startled meerkat.

"Hello," Edward Cullen said as he slid onto the stool. I gave him a hesitant smile and a distracted "Hi," as I fiddled with the microscope on our desk.

"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Isobel Swan."

I was still slightly off-kilter from the unexpected intrusion of what I had come to think of as my nice single-occupancy Biology desk, so I paused and took the briefest second to finish adjusting the microscope sight. "It's really strange," I managed without looking at my neighbor, "how everyone in this town seemed to know who I was before I even got here."

I heard his perfectly pressed shirt crinkle slightly as he shrugged. "It's not so strange. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

"Hah," I said, and glanced over at Edward, trying not to be dazzled by his bright eyes and sharp cheekbones. "I have noticed that not a lot happens in this town. You guys must have been pretty hard up for entertainment when I arrived."

"You have no idea," Edward replied with a secretive smile.

I shook my head, trying not to grin, and focused on the front of the room as Mr Banner announced the start of the class.

Biology! The slides in the boxes he now passed around were out of order, and with our lab partners we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented. Oh yes, I said to myself, mentally rubbing my hands together like an evil scientist, I've totally already done this lab. My time to whip out the dazzling wit and super speccy brain power. I hope you're ready for this, Mr Cullen.

Would I some across as too cocky if I interlaced my fingers and cracked them? Perhaps. I tried to settle for looking something between bemused and quietly confident.

"Ladies first, partner?" Edward offered, gesturing towards the box of slides.

I couldn't help myself. I giggled.

The microscope sight was cold when I pressed my eye to it and once again adjusted the magnification. The little cells came into some semblance of focus and I picked one, noting the beginning stages of mitosis.

I love biology words. Mitosis. So cool.

"This one's prophase," I told Edward Cullen, who frowned ever so slightly.

"Do you mind if I look?" He reached out to put the slide back into place after I'd already started to remove it, and our fingers touched for the briefest of seconds with a sharp tingle almost like the time I'd electrocuted myself unplugging my mom's antique lamp. His pale skin was freezing cold.

Edward's hand pulled back quickly as though he'd been burnt. "I'm sorry," he muttered quietly, and grabbed hold of the microscope, checking the slide quickly. "Prophase," he confirmed.

"I don't think I've ever met someone who had colder hands than me," I said, trying to lighten the charged awkwardness of our conversation as I rubbed my own slightly blue hands together. "My friend told me about these crazy Japanese pocket warmer things? They're little packets of activated carbon that you tear and they keep your pockets warm all day. Maybe we should go in on a box."

The guy clearly thought I was mad. His mouth was closed and teeth probably gritted, but the edge of his lips turned slightly up in a confused crooked smile.

We completed the lab in five minutes, each taking turns to identify the stages of mitosis whilst Edward took notes in perfectly executed cursive. It was impressive; I'd given up on cursive years ago. I stretched out my arms on top of the desk and glanced around. Every other team in the room was either quietly bickering or quietly sneaking looks at their textbooks under the desk.

The teacher noted our stillness. "So, Edward, didn't you think Isobel should get a chance with the microscope?" He tapped on Edward's neatly aligned papers.

"Isobel correctly identified three of the five," Edward told Mr Banner calmly, as the man raised an eyebrow.

"Have you done this before?"

Damn. Totally busted.

"Not with onion root," I admitted sheepishly. "We used whitefish blastula."

Mr Banner nodded. "You were in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yep," I said with a sigh, trying to blot out Edward's face from my peripheral vision.

"Well," the teacher said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners."

What was that supposed to mean? I pulled a face after the teacher had turned away and slumped over my notebook once again, turning my head slightly to look past Edward out the window, where today's fresh snowfall (real snow! Oh my gosh!) was being turned to slushy ice by the drizzle.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edward spoke up after a minute. I sat up straight and turned to face him. Oh, lordy, that pretty face. He was like something out of an underwear catalog, and he made me nervous and, dare I say it, slightly fluttery in at least a PG13-rated way. Smart boys with no sense of humor rarely did that to me, but this was an _alarmingly attractive_ smart boy with no sense of humor. And he was attempting small-talk with me in a way that made me think maybe _he_ was the nervous one.

"I guess so. Snow's still kind of a novelty to me," I told him, and sketched a quick six-sided snowflake in the margin of my book.

"You don't like the cold?" He pressed.

I thought for a second. "I'll have to get used to it," I said. "Not much snow or rain where I'm from."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," Edward said, with the hint of a genuine smile.

"It's growing on me," I smiled back.

"So why did you come here?" Edward continued.

I hiccupped a little laugh. "Is this Twenty Questions?"

"Just curious," Edward said, not lowering his eyes. I blinked at him and bit my lip slowly.

"My mother got remarried," I said at last. "You know in the week I've been here, nobody's actually asked me that yet."

"Maybe I'm slightly more observant than most," Edward said. "So you don't like him."

I shook my head no. "Phil is fine. He takes care of her almost as well as I did." I sighed. "He travels a lot for his job. I convinced Mom we should go with him, but then I figured I'd have better chances for college if I didn't spend my final year homeschooling myself over the internet."

Edward raised an eyebrow. Surely he didn't pluck them, but how else would they be so neatly manicured? "You seem smart enough to me."

"Hah," I gave a single snort. "Thanks."

At that moment, Mr Banner called the class to attention, and I was grateful to turn away from Edward's intense stare to focus on the blackboard and overhead transparencies as the teacher explained to the class what we should have seen in the microscope. I gave my diagrams of the separating cells cartoon faces - smiley as a single cell, unsettled as he went through the wobbly prophase, horrified as his self split into two but ultimately okay once he had a whole 'nother one of himself to hang out with.

So, despite last week's stomach upset, Edward Cullen - I flicked a quick glance at him - seemed like a perfectly all right guy. It'd been the first time at my new school I'd actually sort of clicked with someone and had a two-sided conversation, which was nice. When the bell rang, I turned to ask him what his next class was, but just like the very first Monday, he slipped smoothly out of his chair and almost ran towards the door without saying a word.

I stood baffled, watching after Edward as Mike trundled up beside me and picked up my books. I gently took them back from him without trying to be rude, and tucked them tight against my chest.

"So," Mike said, puffing up at the blonde hair that was falling into his eyes. "That was awful. They all looked exactly the same."

"Maybe you had some wonky slides," I offered calmly. His exasperation and my automatic soothing reminded me somewhat of my relationship with my mother.

"Yeah, maybe." Mike sighed, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. We wandered to Gym together, and all I could think about were Edward Cullen's weird golden eyes. Pathetic.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning was a waking nightmare. When I turned to my truck after locking up the front door to leave for school, I instantly slid on the ice patch that had formed on the doorstep. Yesterday's rain on top of the slushy snow had turned the front yard into a single sheet of slippery ice. I caught myself against the front door, and cautiously stamped every step towards the cab of my truck. What did people normally do in this situation? Carry a baggie of salt and sprinkle it in front of them? Wear cleats on their boots? Oh, my kingdom for a pair of soccer studs. This snowy, wet winter bullshit was ridiculous.

Once I was inside the truck with the heater on and the radio tuned to a hilarious old country and western station, I felt a little less anger towards the ice. My truck seemed to handle the slick road pretty well, but I still drove extra slow down the highway just in case. Forks coated in a glittering layer of snow and ice was clean and beautiful, and not for the first time since I'd been here, I found myself wishing for a camera. Maybe this weekend I could head back into town and see if I could buy an old film model with the money I'd been saving.

When I got out of my truck at school, I saw why I'd had so little trouble on the icy road. There were thin chains crisscrossed over my tires - snow chains! Either there was a snow chain fairy living in the woods by our house, or Charlie had gotten up early to fit them for me before he went to work. Bless him. I squatted down to check out a tire, but straightened suddenly when I heard a terrible high-pitched screech.

My eyes flicked past a sea of terrified faces, past Edward Cullen's eyes wide with horror as he stood several spaces away with his dark-haired sister next to their stupid shiny Volvo. A van had taken the corner into the student parking lot too fast, and, bereft of snow chains with its tires locked and squealing, it was skidding wildly towards me with no sign of slowing down.

_I'm going to die_, my brain said calmly as I watched the van pirouette towards me.

And then everything went upside-down. Something solid and cold hit me hard from another side, and I was down on the asphalt, my head smacking against the ice. My vision flashed red and the freezing mass was on top of me, noises of tires and ice squealing and metal shrieking in protest as the blue van violently kissed the back of my red truck.

"Fuck," said a low voice through the ringing, right beside my ear. Still blinded by the throbbing black and red, I felt myself pulled along the ground and I closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them again I could see, but it was all a blur - white hands against dark blue metal and the sound of another horrible screech against a backdrop of shocked yells. The hands moved down to grab my legs and I watched helplessly while they were pulled out of the way of the van, and the behemoth rocked and finally came to rest with a groaning metallic thud and the awful popping sound of cracking glass.

I heard myself breathing in and out very fast, and then the voice beside me spoke again. "Isobel? Are you all right?"

My eyes focused on Edward Cullen, his white face inches away as he held me tightly against his body. Instantly my own traitorous body warmed to his cool touch, and my mind just noted '_Cold_,' before I blinked again.

"Isobel?" He sounded slightly panicked.

"Hello," I said, and breathed in hard through my nose, trying to figure out what was going on. "Edward. I'm okay." My eyes travelled quickly over his face and I continued without realizing what I was saying. "Are you okay? How did you get here?"

"Don't worry," Edward soothed. "You hit your head. You'll be okay."

I shook my head, and then winced as the red bloom returned in my vision. "You were over there. I saw you."

"I was standing right next to you, Isobel."

"No." I turned to sit up, and he released me from his grip and slid as far away from me as he could in the crumpled space between the two cars. This is when they found us, after pulling the two cars apart, everyone with white faces and wet red eyes and loud voices.

"She's okay," one person yelled. "Call the EMTs," demanded someone else to the crowd. "Don't move," another voice came. "Get Tyler out of the van!" a final voice shouted.

What was I saying?

Edward was standing up now, and he pressed a hand to my shoulder. Any other time I would have been mocking him for his concern, but there was something else I needed to say.

"You were over there," I insisted again. "You were by your car, with your sister." I tried to turn my head up to look at him but it hurt too much.

Edward's hand rested now on my hair, and he quickly squatted in front of me to look directly into my face. "Isobel."

I wasn't sure if I liked the way he said my name, as if I were an insolent child.

"I was standing with you," Edward said calmly, "and I pulled you out of the way." His gold eyes (who has gold eyes? Honestly) bored into mine.

"You weren't," I said. "You..." I squinted to recall. "You pulled me down. You pushed the van out of the way. Your hands..."

"I think she has concussion," Edward said in a loud voice, leaning away for a second to direct someone else.

"No," I whined.

"Isobel, please," Edward said, looking back to me again, pleading in his eyes.

Sirens were growing closer.

"You have to tell me… what really happened," I told him, and set my jaw to try and fight against the slight wavering in my head.

"Fine," he said in a low voice. "Later."

It took six EMTs and two teachers to move the fan far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Someone strapped a neck brace on to me, and I was bundled onto an ambulance trolley. Edward was somehow unscathed and speaking in a low voice to one of the paramedics.

Chief Swan arrived on the scene before they had me safely away.

"Isobel!" My father yelled, rushing to my side. "Are you all right?" He reached for my face, then noted the brace and dropped his hand, worry crinkling his forehead.

"I'm okay, Dad," I said, as they rolled me into the ambulance. I caught a glimpse then of the front of the van, the windscreen cracked and fallen slightly in.

"Is the other - is Tyler okay?" I asked frantically, trying to turn my head to see someone, but thwarted immediately by the stiff brace.

"Tyler will be fine," an EMT told me from somewhere beside me. "Just a few cuts and bruises."

"Oh good," I said, and my eyes meant to flicker shut for a bit of respite from the now throbbing pain on the side of my head.

"I need you to stay awake Isobel," the stranger's voice warned. "It's not far to the hospital, now."

"Oh good," I said again, quieter.


	5. Chapter 5

The emergency room was a circus of activity, and I was pleased at last when my tests were completed and I was propped up in a bed beside Tyler Crowley, who was looking much better now that his bloodied face had been cleared up and patched together with some butterfly clips. He'd had some cuts from the smashed windscreen, but was otherwise unharmed and was now offering a quiet but relentless tide of apologies. I closed my eyes for a minute, despite the nurse's wishes, and only opened them again when Tyler paused and a new voice asked, "Is she sleeping?"

Edward stood at the foot of my bed, a strange look of concern written on his even features. I considered using my potential head injury to its best comical advantage and faking memory loss, but Edward's face told me that right now he wouldn't be so into the joke.

I gave him an apprehensive smile and raised my eyebrows. "So. D'you know when they're gonna let us out of here? I notice you're not strapped to a gurney."

"It's all about who you know," he answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

He turned as a new doctor appeared, young and blond and sporting the same pale skin and tired yellow eyes as Edward. This must be the Doctor Cullen I'd heard so much about. There weren't any nurses flinging their panties at him as I'd been led to expect, but it was still only 10AM.

"So, Miss Swan," the Doctor said (sadly not snapping on latex gloves), "how are you feeling?"

I shrugged. "I'm alive, I guess."

"Now, your X-rays looked good," he continued. "Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard."

"Just a bit of a bump," I raised my hand to the sore spot and winced, and Dr. Cullen followed my fingers with his own cool ones and lightly palpated the egg that had sprung up there.

"Well, your father is in the waiting room - you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

I started to nod, but thought better of it. "Sure." I said instead, steadying myself on the bed rail as I got to my feet.

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen commented as he handed me my discharge papers.

"Lucky, uh, Edward happened to be standing right next to me," I said lightly, with a glance at the subject of my statement. He glowered.

Dr. Cullen moved on to Tyler, and I grabbed Edward's arm - still cold, despite the warmth of the hospital, and strangely hard-muscled for his size - and made to lead him off behind another curtained partition. He flinched at my touch and pulled his arm away, but followed me regardless.

"So what _did_ happen back there?" I'd tried to keep my voice cool, but a suspicious undercurrent crept in.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Edward said in a clipped tone.

"You know exactly what I'm - look, just tell me. How did you get over to me so fast? How did you stop that van?"

Edward was shaking his head. "You must have been imagining things, Isobel. You hit your head. I was standing right next to you all along. We just got lucky."

"I saw you stop that van with your hands!" I hissed.

"Really?" Edward scoffed.

"How did that happen, Edward?" It was to my credit that I kept my voice so low in my anger. "How could that van have smashed into you and you don't have a scratch?"

"Isobel." His voice was deadly serious. "None of that happened."

"I know what I saw, Edward. Just that - your hands pushing that goddamn van away from us. Your hands leaving a dent!"

He was still shaking his head. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

I flung my hands up. "Why should I?" I wasn't sure why I was so angry. Shock? Was it finally hitting that I could have died this morning? No, maybe it was something else, something in Edward that I was finally seeing, maybe the reason why everyone else seemed to skirt around him. His face was as dark as a thundercloud, his eyes angry and... threatening?

"Why would you even bother to save me?" I asked, quietly.

Edward stared at me for another split second, before he spun on his heel. "I don't know," he said forcefully as he walked away.

Edward Cullen, I reasoned as I shook my hair in frustration and went in search for Charlie, was a goddamned madman. Who knows what had actually happened today, or why? I forced myself to breathe lightly and paste on a smile when I saw Charlie's face amidst the crowd in the waiting room.

"Can we go home now?" I asked, relieved to have someone to fall back on.

Charlie's moustache smiled. "Sure thing, honey."

The days that followed the accident were uneasy. After I'd returned to school, everyone I saw - including so many people I didn't know - demanded details and wanted to know how I was. When I insisted that I was fine, that Tyler was much worse off, and that Edward had pulled me to safety, each person left unimpressed. I'm not sure what they expected. My shine as the new girl seemed to quickly be wearing off, for which I was sort of glad. However, Tyler had begun popping up at inopportune moments, for some reason demanding to make amends and not listening when I told him, too, that there was no lasting harm done to me or my impenetrable truck. It was all I could do to smile at him and decline.

Our first Biology lesson, I'd offered a perfectly neutral "Hey, Edward," to my desk mate, who chose to ignore me aside from turning his head slightly in the opposite direction. I dropped my notebook heavily on the desk and sighed. "Jesus Christ, Edward. You wouldn't think a simple hello would be too much for you." I shook my head and turned to face the front, and we said nothing else to each other for nearly an entire month.

As the weather warmed imperceptibly and the snow somehow melted, the rain took back its foggy mantle over the town.

I'd managed to find an old Pentax camera and lens kit at the one thrift store in town, and with a couple of packages of film from the drug store and a short primer on F-stops and exposure settings I'd found on the internet, I spent my spare time on the weekends trying to figure out how my new camera worked. My first rolls came back from the 'photo lab' (actually just a machine at the drug store staffed by someone who I think might have been in my Spanish class) with the majority either just out of focus or blurred beyond all recognition. Two shots, however, were nearly perfect – one black and white of the front of our little house, another full-color of a pretty blue wildflower I'd found in the woods surrounding our yard. I tacked them up above my desk and got re-prints made to send to my mother. She never responded, but maybe she just hadn't been home for a while.

Talk at the lunch table was of a trip to the beach at the La Push reservation when the sun came out, which sounded interesting. I hadn't been to La Push since I'd moved here, although I had been a few times before with Charlie, Billy Black and his son, Jacob. The excitement of that idea wore off a little as the rain continued, however, and talk soon turned to the impending Spring dance.

Much to my amusement, the flyers announced the dance was 'Ladies' choice,' which would have appalled my feminist and queer-ally sensibilities back in Phoenix but seemed somehow suitable in an old-fashioned little town like Forks.

For the first week in March, the girls all through the school spoke in either whispers behind hands or loud titters, especially when the potential objects of their affection passed. It was sort of laughable, and I tried to distance myself as far from it as I could. School dances had never been my cup of tea at all, and the idea of spending all my savings on a dress and a hairdo and swaying around all night in the too-tight arms of - who? Mike? Eric? _Tyler?_ - was almost nauseating.

Jessica pulled me aside one morning to ask me quietly if I didn't mind if she asked Mike to the dance. I had to bite my lip hard to hold back a bark of laughter.

"It's okay," I assured her. "I'm not going to the dance. Besides, I'm sure Mike would prefer to go with you anyway."

So it was a surprise when Jessica wasn't her usual chatty self in Trig and Spanish later that morning, and I was afraid to ask her why. Surely Mike hadn't turned her down?

My fears were founded not long afterwards when Mike and I walked to Biology, and instead of taking his usual pre-class place perched on my desk, Mike stood beside my stool and fiddled with the gas taps. As usual, Edward was a silently brooding presence on my other side, but he seemed to perk up and turn his head slightly toward me the second before Mike cleared his throat.

"So," Mike said, looking at the floor. "Jessica asked me to the spring dance."

"I know!" I said brightly, trying to sound thrilled for him. "She was so excited this morning."

Mike raised his eyes to me questioningly. "I was wondering, uh, maybe..." he cleared his throat again, chest puffed and chin thrust forward like the Mike of old, "I thought you might have wanted to ask me. That is," he added, with the briefest of glances at my sullen neighbour, "if you didn't have plans to ask someone else."

"Oh, geez, no," I said firmly, for both boys' benefit. "I'm not going to the dance at all."

I tossed around answers in my head. "As protest," sounded petty, "Because I can't dance," sounded lame, "Because school events are universally pathetic," was perhaps a touch too mean.

"I'm driving to Seattle," I told Mike.

His questing eyebrows showed no trace of moving back down to their default position.

"... There's a, uh, book signing that day," I invented quickly. "And a band I know from the internet." Just enough to, sadly, keep me busy enough to miss the dance and the day's nervous preparation. I'm sure there'd be one or both of those events on somewhere in Seattle that day. There usually is.

As the teacher entered and Mike mumbled his goodbyes, I found myself already looking forward to visiting Seattle. It'd been too long since I'd been in a city, and I was hankering for some of the cultural diversity that a little town like Forks just couldn't provide. I turned my head to look out of the window at the rain that just never stopped falling, and decided that I could definitely do with some respite. As I stared past him, Edward's dark eyes caught mine for the first time in weeks, and I raised my chin at him slightly and gave an encouraging little smile before turning back to focus on the teacher.

Although I'd been angry at Edward after the accident, it had sort of mellowed over the month to resignation that he'd given up on being friends with me. What exactly had happened that day was still a mystery to me, but I figured there was no point in dwelling on it. If Edward had a secret, he wasn't obligated to share it with me. It'd just be nice to have someone to talk to who wasn't hormonal and dance-crazed, and from what I'd seen of Edward in our extremely short friendship it definitely seemed like he would be the sort of person who'd give the dance a miss as well.

He still ignored me for the rest of the class, so it was a surprise when I heard a quiet "Hey, Isobel," beside me as I started packing up my things.

"Hey, Edward," I said, not looking at him but fighting to keep my smile suppressed, "you're talking to me again?"

"No, not really." His low voice sounded amused.

I spun to face him, adjusting my hair after I'd flung my bag over my shoulder. "You're ridiculous, you know that," I said, exasperated.

"I'm sorry." His voice was sincere, his face unreadable. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

"You could at least be civil," I pointed out. "I see you've just managed a 'Hey, Isobel.' If you could drop one of those perhaps twice a week I think we'd be okay."

"You think I want to be okay with you?" He raised one eyebrow, a skill I'd always been envious of. Of course perfect-faced Edward Cullen could pull it off.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I'll see you tomorrow, Edward."

Gym that day was basketball, and thankfully, Mike hadn't hung around like usual to ferry me there. I changed quickly and settled into my position slightly off to the left side near the hoop end, where I'd figured through trial and error was the spot where I was required least. That worked out well for me, and I just sort of bounced excitedly on the balls of my feet when the action came near, without being involved in actually touching the ball at all. Flawless gym strategy. I'd have to work it out all over again when we switched to the next sport.

After the bell finally rang, I extricated myself from the giggling mass of the girls' change rooms as quickly as possible and headed straight for my truck. I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a tall, dark figure leaning against my driver's door, and my steps faltered.

The figure noticed me, stretched an arm out. His face came into focus - Eric, the boy from my English class. I smiled and loped towards him. "Hey, Eric," I said as I drew near. "What brings you here?" _Please don't be the dance, please don't be the dance_, I chanted inwardly.

"Well, I was just wondering," Eric began, as I fumbled in my bag for my keys, "Um, if you would go to the spring dance with me?"

Huh. Direct.

"I thought it was girl's choice," I said slowly to Eric as I unlocked the door.

"Well, yeah," he admitted.

I tried to make my smile warm. "I'm sorry, I actually already have plans for that day."

"Ah," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "No problems. Maybe next time."

"Sure," I agreed, to my immediate regret. There wouldn't be a next time, surely? How many dances did a school need in one year?

Eric slouched back towards the school, and I swear I heard a low laugh as I dumped my bag in the cab of my truck and hauled myself up. Man, the guys at this school were completely oblivious. I know Jessica had been mooning and draping herself over Mike the entire time I'd been here, and I'd spoken to Eric perhaps twice in the six weeks. In what world did that constitute interest in him? It couldn't be that I was super pretty, either, given my perennially scraggly hair, too-big teeth and complete lack of color. Maybe Eric had a hard-on for the ice maiden he thought I was. Maybe I needed to start wearing blush.

I snorted as I revved the truck's engine into life and turned to back out of my spot. Maybe I needed to dye my hair blonde, get mad contacts, and plaster on a full face of makeup every day. Perhaps that would turn off the too-eager boys of Forks High (it seemed to work for Edward's blonder sister), although it would be to the detriment of my sloppily cultivated 90's-band-shirt-and-plaid aesthetic.

When the traffic inexplicably backed up in the student lot a minute later and Tyler Crowley banged on my window and coolly invited me to ask him to the dance, it took all my effort not to slam my face into the big steering wheel of my truck and activate the horn. Sorry, Forks High School. Your student body is exasperating.


	6. Chapter 6

That night, I dreamt of Edward.

In my dream it was dark, and the only dim light seemed to be radiating from Edward's white skin. His coppery-coloured hair was super saturated to a flaming bronze, and when he turned to me briefly his strange yellow eyes flickered through red to black. He was walking away from me, and I was running to catch him, shouting his name, begging him to wait, the camera around my neck banging hard against my breasts and growing heavier and heavier. I lifted it to lighten my load, and when I caught a glimpse through the viewfinder, Edward was gone.

I was ashamed and embarrassed when I woke up, sheets tangled around my legs so completely I had to take a minute to unwind them before I could get out of bed. It had been a long time since I'd been hung up on a boy, and although I really couldn't afford to lose focus on my studies right now, I felt like… maybe I deserved a little excitement?

I tried not to focus on the dream as I went about preparing myself for the day. I showered, blow-dried my hair with extra care so that it hung in glossy waves - not for Edward, I insisted to myself. I put on my favourite red sweater before discarding it for a more feminine blue blouse - not for Edward, I said in my head, although the red sweater did bring up a memory of our first class when he'd shied from me so violently with that awful look on his face. I didn't brush my teeth extra carefully for Edward, or pinch my cheeks into pinkness and grin at myself in the mirror for him, either.

I drove to school, brightened by the fact that it wasn't raining for once, although the ground was covered in standing water and the grey sky threatened another downpour. I gave myself a little cheer when made it all the way to school without turning on my wipers, and exited the cab slightly too excitably and promptly dropped my keys into a deep puddle by my feet. Nuts.

As I bent to retrieve them, a white hand flashed out and grabbed the keys before I could. I flicked my hair back to see Edward Cullen holding the dripping keys out in front of him, and amused little smile on his face.

"You never told me how you do that," I pointed out lightly, as he shook the water off the keys and deposited them in my outstretched palm.

"Do what?" Edward leaned casually against the side of my truck.

"How you appear out of thin air," I told him, dropping the keys into the front pocket of my bag. I was looking into his face, about to playfully reproach him for touching my truck, when I noticed something.

"Your eyes," I said abruptly, just as Edward was opening his mouth to respond. "They're yellow again. I didn't notice until now... they were black yesterday."

"Were they indeed?" Edward asked. "That's odd."

"You're odd," I told him with a half-smile, then shook my head. "Never mind. I told myself your weird talents are none of my business."

"You think I have weird talents?" The crooked smile appeared.

"I'm sure everyone has weird talents," I said, starting to move towards the school buildings. Edward fell into step beside me as I continued. "For example, I can almost lick my elbow and have an uncanny skill for picking a perfectly ripe avocado every single time."

"I'm not sure I'd call those talents," Edward said with a laugh.

I shrugged. "I take what I can get."

Edward cleared his throat. "So, I wanted to ask you something, before you spoke over the top of me."

I paused and looked up at him, just as the rain started to sprinkle.

"I was wondering," Edward said slowly, "if a week from Saturday - you know, the day of the Spring dance-"

"You're kidding," I interrupted. I know he'd heard me turn down Mike yesterday, and had he been nearby for Eric's attempt too?

Edward's eyes were amused. "Will you please allow me to finish?"

"Sure," I said, rolling my eyes.

"I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

That was unexpected. "Oh," I said, after a second. "With... you?"

He nodded. "I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks myself, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

"My truck can make it fine," I said disbelievingly. "Anyway, I thought you'd given up on being my friend."

"It's not a good idea for me to be your friend," Edward said quietly, with a little chuckle. Then his eyes locked onto mine. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Isobel."

I should have said something about how I was glad, even if he was a complete and utter prat, but all I could do was stare back at him dumbly.

Edward grinned briefly, showing all of his teeth. "So you'll come with me to Seattle?"

"We can go _together_ to Seattle," I said at last, with a little smile. "I'm not going to tag along after you. But yes, that'd be nice. Thanks."

He nodded, then looked over my shoulder and gazed moodily into the middle distance. "You really should stay away from me."

"As if I'm going to, when you insist on something like that," I said, exasperated once again.

He smiled and turned away to take a different path, to his first class. Mine was English, and I was praying I'd be able to avoid any awkward moments with Eric. The dance was still more than a week away, and I'd just made plans with Edward Cullen to officially ditch it. I looked up after the mercurial boy again.

"Edward, wait," I called to his departing back, and then froze, remembering my dream.

He'd frozen too, and was now turning to face me with the strangest look in his eyes. My heart stalled, then started thumping in double-time.

"Never mind," I said, and tried to smile. "I'll see you in Biology."

I did my best to block out this morning's conversation through my first classes, focusing so closely on my latest English essay (_A multitude of ordered pairs exist throughout the text of Wuthering Heights. What are the most significant dualities? What does Bronte gain by creating symmetry between generations? What does she lose?_) that I failed to realize Mike wasn't sitting in his usual spot next to me. Still, he and Eric both seemed happy enough to wave back when I smiled at them on my way to Trig. Jessica babbled endlessly as usual about the dance and the trip to La Push that surely we'd be able to schedule for this weekend, but after we'd entered the cafeteria together and took our seats, she went strangely quiet and nudged me.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you."

Huh. So maybe this morning's conversation hadn't been an eerily extended version of my dream after all. I turned to look at the Cullen's table, but couldn't see Edward's face. One of the other guys was shaking his head, and the blonde girl looked incredibly cross.

"I wonder why he's sitting alone today," Jessica whispered. I turned around again to see where she was looking, and she was right - Edward was looking pointedly in our direction and grinned wide when he caught my eye.

"Ugh," Jessica said with a shudder. "It creeps me out when he smiles like that."

"I'd better go see what the creep wants," I told her, picking up my boxed sandwich and bottle of lemonade.

"Edward Cullen," I greeted him, still holding my lunch. "What are you doing over here? Your family looks... disapproving."

"As does yours," he replied, and I saw Jessica trying not to look over at us, a glower on her usually pleasant face. I laughed.

"Let me guess. Sour grapes?" I asked quietly, trying to angle myself so that Jessica couldn't tell what I was saying.

"You could say that," Edward said with a chuckle, and gestured towards the seat across from him. "Why don't you sit with me today?"

"Are we going to have an actual conversation again?" I asked cheekily, as I flung my bag on the ground beside the table and slid into the chair. "I'm starting to look forward to them."

"I don't see why we couldn't," Edward replied. "I told you - I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up."

"It's impossible trying to stay away from someone in a place this small," I pointed out, opening my sandwich and plucking out the droopy pieces of tomato. "Okay, Edward. You've got me now. So you've been avoiding me for my own safety, is that right?"

I took a bite of my lunch and chewed as he watched, seemingly fascinated. It was slightly off-putting, and I put my sandwich down.

"Something like that," Edward said evasively, as I swallowed.

"But all this came about after you somehow miraculously saved me from a gruesome crushing death by van? I really don't understand."

He shook his head. "It doesn't make a lot of sense."

"I give up too, then," I sighed. "I'm just going to write you off as complicated."

"I should do the same thing for you," Edward said, smiling.

I unscrewed the lid of my lemonade and took a sip, stopping again when I noticed Edward watching me drink a little too attentively. "I'm hardly complicated."

"On the contrary," Edward said. "Most people are easy to read, for me. For example, right now your boyfriend Mike seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you - he's debating whether or not to come over here."

I tried not to look over at Mike. "I'm sure you can figure out he's not even close to being my boyfriend," I said to Edward. "For someone who can read people, you've got that pretty wrong."

Edward made a frustrated noise, and reached close to me to grab the cap of my lemonade bottle from the table. "I can't read you."

I stared directly at his face boldly. "Maybe we could work on that."

"We shouldn't." Edward said shortly.

"Because you're bad for me," I confirmed, shaking my head slightly in disbelief. "I've met bad guys, Edward. They're the ones who set fires at school and carve things into their arms with knives and think Third-Wave Black Metal is a thing. Even if you are as terrible as you seem to be saying, I think you're interesting and I want to talk to you more. I'm allowed to choose who I want to associate with, so I'm accepting your danger. Is that okay?"

Edward's eyes were unreadable, but a tiny smile played across his lips. "That works for me."

We sat in silence for a minute regarding one another, before I lifted my sandwich up again. "So. Are you gonna eat anything?"

He shook his head. "I already ate."

"You're missing out," I said, gesturing with my ham and cheese. "This sandwich is amazing."

For the first time in our acquaintance, Edward actually laughed. "You're something else, Isobel Swan."


	7. Chapter 7

I'd excused myself from Edward's table to go to the bathroom five minutes before our strange lunch break ended; the bell rang just as I was finishing up so I wandered to Biology alone. Mike was already in his seat and gave me an odd look as he passed, and Angela, one of the girls from our lunch table, gave me a surprised little smile. I waved awkwardly with my fingertips and settled into my seat.

Edward still hadn't appeared when Mr Banner showed up and piled some boxes on Mike's desk. I sighed and shook my head.

"Okay guys," Mr Banner said, in a slightly more buoyant voice than usual. "I want you take one piece from each box." He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and pulled a white card from the first container, before handing the box to Mike to pass around. "The first should be an indicator card," he said, "the second is a four-pronged applicator." Mr Banner pulled an applicator from the second box and passed it to Mike as well. "And the third -" he unwrapped a small piece of blue plastic from a clear wrapper in one motion - "is a sterile micro-lancet."

Oh no.

My vision went slightly blurry as the teacher described the process, gesturing to Mike to take his hand, and then pressing Mike's middle finger out straight before - I took quick, shallow breaths - jabbing the lancet quickly into Mike's finger and squeezing to produce a tiny red spot of blood. I watched in horror as Mr Banner showed Mike how to apply it to his white card, and the bright red blood bloomed across the wet surface of the paper.

The teacher grinned up at us. "The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type. Those who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission."

I gripped the edge of the table as Mr Banner pottered slowly around the room. I wondered if I opened my mouth I'd vomit.

At least there were sinks close to hand.

"Sir," I managed in a wavery voice. "I already know my blood type." I'd tried to give blood before. Three times before, all with the same ending. At least the nurses gave me a can of soda afterwards and sat me up in one of their comfy chairs. Mr Banner didn't look like he had any soda at all.

He frowned at me. "Are you feeling faint, Miss Swan?"

I nodded. "Could I go to the nurse?" I asked from between grit teeth.

"Mike," Mr Banner called over his shoulder, "could you take Isobel to the nurse please?"

As Mike sprung up, he dislodged the bloody card from his desk and it floated towards the floor.

"No," I gasped, as Mike grabbed the card, smearing some of the watery blood, "Sorry. I can't - your finger."

Breathing hard, I grabbed my backpack and stumbled out of the room into the fresh air, slamming the door behind me in my haste. Nobody followed me.

I used one hand against the outer brick wall of the cafeteria to keep me standing as I walked slowly to the office, but when I glanced ahead and saw how far away it still was in my swirling vision, I sunk to the pavement and rested my head in both hands.

At least the air out here was clean, as it usually was from the recent rain. The wet concrete soaked through my jeans almost immediately, but the cold was strangely sobering. Taking shaking breaths, I gradually managed to make them deeper and longer, and I could lift my head without it spinning after a little while.

After another two minutes, I rubbed my face and stretched my arms, then slowly pulled myself to my feet. Go back to Biology? Or continue to the nurse? My pants were soaked and I don't think I was really in the mood to return to a classroom stinking of blood, and then on to Gym...

I fingered my keys in the front pocket of my backpack, and glanced at the path to the student parking lot. Surely nobody would notice. I definitely couldn't handle Gym today.

I was halfway to my truck when I noticed Edward's Volvo was still in the lot, and as I drew closer I realized he was still inside it - his eyes closed and fingers in the air floating across imaginary piano keys. I put my hand on my hip and watched him for a minute, and he finally lowered his hands and opened his eyes.

I grinned when he noticed me and he smiled slowly in response and stepped out of the driver's seat, leaning against the open door. "You know, I think you're the only person in the world who can sneak up on me."

I shrugged in response. "So, you play piano?"

Edward shrugged too. "I try." He nodded at my backpack. "Skipping class?"

"I nearly passed out in Biology," I sighed. "I mean, uh, I'm trying the bad girl thing on for size. Nothing like flaunting authority now and then."

"This coming from a police officer's daughter."

"I know." I winced. "It's so predictable."

We stood for a minute, smiling at each other stupidly despite the rain that was starting to sprinkle.

"So," I said at last, swinging my keys and glancing towards my truck. "I'm going to get moving."

"Wait," Edward said, and he looked like he was holding tight to the edge of his car's roof. "You passed out in Biology? You shouldn't be driving home after that."

"I _nearly_ passed out," I corrected. "I smelled Mike's blood. I don't do well with blood. I didn't even get to the part where I pricked my own finger."

Edward's eyebrows wrinkled in an odd expression. "People can't smell blood," he said after a minute.

I grimaced. "I can. It smells like rust... and salt. I can smell ants too, but everybody says I'm making it up. They smell sort of like coconut..." I trailed off, gave Edward an apologetic look. "Sorry. I'm babbling. I'm gonna go before anyone notices we're out here."

Edward had relaxed his grip on the car's roof. "Let me give you a ride. You shouldn't be driving after that."

"But I'm all wet," I protested.

"I'm sure my seats can handle it," Edward said, swinging down into the driver's seat and leaning across to pop the passenger door. "Come on. I'll get Alice to drop your truck off after school."

I couldn't argue about a free ride in a nice car with a self-proclaimed dangerous boy. I sighed and slid into the leather seat. The Volvo was impeccably clean and still smelled plasticy, like new car. Edward was being nice, so I bit my lip and didn't say anything about his potentially inheriting the car from an elderly relative. Did Edward pick the Volvo himself, I wondered?

Instead I managed a smile and attempted conversation as I buckled up. "So, Alice is your sister, right? Which one is she?"

"The rumor mill hasn't informed you already?" Edward asked dryly, ignoring his seat belt and turning the car on.

"You should wear your seat belt," I told him, over the strains of classical music which he turned down immediately. "And I try not to pay attention to the rumor mill. Nobody seems too keen to talk about you snobby Cullens."

"Snobby, are we?" Edward laughed, as we turned out of the school. "Well, that's good, I suppose." He smoothly accelerated onto the highway. "Yes, Alice is my sister. The smaller one, with the dark hair. Rosalie is the blonde. Jasper and Emmett are their respective partners."

"It must be lonely," I commented quietly. "Living with so many couples."

Edward frowned at the road in front of us. "I try not to think of it that way," he said, after a pause.

Between us, the CD player started up the next song. Surprising myself, I recognized the piece. "Beau Soir?"

He nodded. "You know Debussy?"

"A little," I said, watching the green and grey landscape pass by. "My mother plays a lot of classical, but I only know some of titles. She used to sing this one, but I never knew the French so she translated it for me. Something about..." I squinted to remember, "how everything is so beautiful in the sunset, and our life is like a night where our youth is the sunset and it's so wonderful we have to make the most of it." I shook my head, embarrassed at being carried away. "Sorry. That's really-"

Edward interrupted me by reciting a line in French and smiling over at me.

If it were possible, I might have orgasmed right then and there. Instead I tried to normalize the hitch in my breathing and turned to bite my lip at the window.

"Your mother sounds nice," Edward said, and I grasped gratefully at the new topic.

"She's the best. Well..." I corrected, "she's hopeless, actually. But I love her."

"It sounds like an interesting relationship," Edward commented.

"You're telling me," I sighed. "Sometimes it feels like I'm _her_ mother. Anyway," I said, as we pulled into Charlie's drive - wait, how did Edward know where I lived? I guess in a town this small everyone knew where the police chief lived, right? - "I'm glad I'm here with Charlie now. It's nice to be able to be a teenager for a bit. And Dad knows how to look after himself."

Edward nodded. "So why did your mother marry Phil?"

I shrugged at him, grabbing my backpack from the floor. "Why does anyone marry anyone? She's crazy about him. He's good for her."

"Do you approve?" Edward asked, turning the car off. The soothing sound of the heavy rain drummed on the roof.

"Again with the questions, " I said with a laugh that I hoped didn't sound too forced. "Yes, I approve. But it's not like that matters. They can make their own decisions."

"That's very generous of you," Edward said, although I hardly thought it was. "Do you think she'd extend the same courtesy to you? No matter who your choice was?"

The atmosphere in the car was suddenly charged, our eyes locked together. Oh, god, I wanted to kiss him.

"I think so," I managed, although I'd almost entirely forgotten what the question was.

"As long as it was no-one too scary," Edward said with a small smile.

My shoulders un-tensed, the spell broken. "Like you," I said. "Edward, I told you what I think about that."

"I still think you're making the wrong decision," he said.

"Too late now," I grinned, and reached for the door handle.

"Aren't you going to give me your car key?" Edward asked quickly before I'd pushed the door open.

I hesitated as I pulled my hood up. "Well, I thought... maybe it'd be easier if you picked me up in the morning."

I had to be the image of seduction, damp hair and white face and my big green jacket. Edward lowered his eyes.

"As much as I'd love to, I'm not going to be at school tomorrow. Emmett and I have had a hiking trip booked for a little while, we're going to start the weekend early."

"Nuts," I breathed. "So much for my cunning plan." I pulled the truck key from my key ring, placed it in a little divot in the dash. I ran my eyes over Edward Cullen's face again, trying not to focus on his lips. "Have fun hiking," I added, as I pushed open the door into the torrential rain.

"Have fun at the beach," Edward said as I slithered out.

I turned and bent to give him a puzzled look as I stood in the rain. "You may not be that bad boy," I said, trying to ignore the water dripping from the tip of my nose, "but you're still a mystery to me, Edward Cullen."

I shut the door before he could reply, and strode through the rain to the front door.

Oh yes. I _was_ Mistress of Seduction.

After I'd changed out of my damp clothes, poured myself a cup of tea and checked my emails, I sat on my bed trying to digest the third act of Macbeth. I was kind of intrigued by Edward's sister, Alice, who looked to be the friendliest of the Cullens from what I'd seen in my glances at their table. Maybe she'd drop in to give my key back after she dropped the truck off, and I could offer her some tea and ask her if Edward was really as terrifying as he seemed to think he was. In my experience, sisters tended to be brutally honest when it came to their brothers, especially in regards to a potential fling. Surely Edward had to have some hideous fatal flaw (aside from his extremely temperamental personality) that I had yet to discover, or even better - an embarrassing family story.

However, funnily enough, I couldn't imagine a five-year old Edward in shorts, playing Legos and getting a four-by-one stuck up his nostril.

It was disappointing when I checked out my window on the way to the bathroom to find that my truck had miraculously returned to the driveway, without me noticing the loud idle or familiar crunch of the gearbox. I figured it was time to start dinner anyway, and as I was dicing tomatoes ready for pasta sauce I had a call from Jessica, gabbering about how the weather report for Saturday was perfect, and we'd finally be making that group trip to La Push we'd planned for so long.

Enjoy the beach, Edward had said, and I'd had no idea what he was talking about. How on earth had he known?


	8. Chapter 8

Macbeth is one of the more upsetting Shakespearean tragedies. Aside from the copious amounts of bloodshed, the fact that Macbeth and his lady wife just keep stabbing their friends and giving no fucks because 'Hey, a bunch of crazy bitches said we were gonna be ROYAL! Woohoo!' is pretty upsetting.

A few pairs of eyes swivelled towards me as we watched a particularly gruesome, Tarantino-esque video of the play in English on Friday, and even though Mike had seemed at first worried at how I'd handle it, he did end up giving me a silent but mocking re-enactment of my face in Biology the previous day. Excellent work, Newtown. What a keep you'll be for some lucky lady one day.

When he did an encore performance of this face at lunch, it was all I could do to not look over at the empty Cullen table and sigh. Some decent conversation would've been nice today. Jessica was torn between laughing at Mike, and shrewdly following my line of sight.

"So what did Edward Cullen want yesterday?" Jessica asked quietly, after Mike had lowered his hand from his forehead and winked at me as though we were great friends conspiring on the hilarious joke.

"Hmm?"

"You sat with him at lunch?" Jessica pressed, lowering her face as if that'd make our conversation private.

Oh, right. Yesterday's lunch seemed like a million years ago, after the Biology drama and that weird but sexy ride home in Edward's 'Cashed-Up Grandpa' car.

"I'm not exactly sure," I said, somewhat truthfully. "He's a strange guy." Remembering Edward's constant insistence that he was bad for me made me quirk the corner of my mouth. "Do you find him at all… scary?"

"He's kinda creepy," Jessica confirmed. "Sometimes he sort of…" She trailed off, her eyes strangely unfocused for a second, then she shook her head. "I don't know. He just weirds me out. Him and his family."

"Huh," I said, twirling the straw in my juice box. "He seemed okay to me. Anyway," I said lightly, "it's nice to have another friend at school." I gave Jessica a grin, and she hesitated for a split second before returning it.

"So!" Jessica said, turning away from me and addressing the table. "Does everyone know where we're meeting tomorrow?"

'Newton's Olympic Outfitters' was a sporting goods store just outside of town, and a balding older version of Mike that I figured was his Dad grinned at me from a poster beside the front door. I wondered, as I skipped down from my truck and slung my camera over my shoulder, if they'd ever actually outfitted any Olympians here.

Mike brightened and waved when I wandered over to the group that had gathered by his Suburban, and I felt like either flinging up my hands in despair or shaking my head at the enthusiasm he still had for me despite the fact that I'd never seemed to return any of it. Instead I smiled and joined Jessica, who was standing with Angela and another girl named Lauren I'd not spoken to before. She gave me a quick and cold closed-mouth smile.

"Oh wow," Angela said in lieu of a greeting. "Is that your camera?"

I held it up to show her. "Yup! I still have no idea how to use it though. Do you have any tips?"

"I have a few," she said seriously, gently taking the camera from my hand and peeking into the viewfinder, then turning it around to see the front. "Oh, you have a smudge on your lens. Let me get that for you." She pulled her little shoulder bag around and grabbed a cloth from inside a glasses case, then quickly and carefully wiped the lens before handing the camera back to me.

I have her a bemused smile. "Thanks. I don't suppose I can blame all my crappy photos so far on that smudge?"

"I don't see why not," Angela said, blushing slightly. "I can show you some pointers today, if you like."

"That sounds great," I said truthfully, before Mike called my name. I turned quickly to face him, bumping slightly into Lauren and pretending not to hear her quiet hiss of exasperation.

"Yes, Mike?"

He gestured towards his big Chevy. "Will you ride in my car? It's that or Lee's mom's minivan."

"I don't know," I said slowly. "Chicks dig a minivan."

The smile froze on his face, and I realised to my horror I'd been flirting and straight old Mike hadn't caught the note of playfulness. I made a metal note not to try anything funny with Mike ever again, just in case.

I rubbed my eyebrow. "I'm kidding, Mike. Thankyou for the offer." I scrambled into the backseat before he could offer me shotgun, and gestured for Angela to follow.

The fifteen minute drive to La Push was beautiful, through thick green forests that were pierced with welcome rays of sunshine, over a wide grey river with little twinkling ripples. As we drove, Angela quietly pointed out all the different focal lengths of my lens and explained what each little pictogram in the viewfinder meant, then with a pen and paper she'd pulled out of her bag, wrote me a quick cheat sheet on ISO settings and exposures. I was getting to like her more and more, and her quiet voice was a welcome break from the mindless nattering of Jessica.

When we pulled in to First Beach we were still close enough to the trees to hear birdsong over the gently crashing waves, but they faded as we picked our way over the rocky shore to a ring of driftwood logs that surrounded a rustic fire pit.

Some of the boys were acting out already, gathering small stones and tossing them out to the water whilst most of the girls carefully trod with their impractical shoes on the rocks that weren't too slippery or dirty. I'd worn canvas sneakers, which were probably a bad choice if they were to get wet, but seemed to cope well enough on the pebbly ground.

I perched on the end of one of the massive logs as Mike and Eric set up a campfire, and facing out to the water, breathed in the smell of the ocean. The bay was dotted with islands with sheer white cliff sides and tiny forests perched on top, and closer to us, it was ringed by a border of grainy sand where seagulls braved the rushing water to peck hopefully at shells while old-man pelicans gloomily supervised.

Wanting to use up my black and white film so that I could slot in my new colour roll to use on the rock pools, I carefully framed a section of water between two islands, focused, and took a few shots with different orientations. As the crackling of the fire and the chatter behind me became louder, I turned back to the groups that had settled comfortably without me, and for a minute felt left out. Jessica was chatting to Mike with a gleam of something akin to triumph in her eye, Angela and another girl were in conversation with Lee and the two friends he'd bought. The campfire burnt a pretty blue and green at the bottom and lit up everyone's faces, already outdoing the sun that was struggling to stay dominant over the white clouds that had drifted in, so I snapped some candids at a lower ISO and prayed they'd come out nicely.

A final few shots of one of the pelicans perching obstinately on a too-small pole nearby, and my camera signalled that the roll was done and ready to be changed over. After winding the film backwards onto the spool, I pulled my hoodie off and used it as a makeshift dark room, still terrified that somehow I'd mess the whole thing up and ruin the entire roll I'd worked so hard on. Once I'd not-so-deftly popped the old film into its little plastic canister, I breathed a sigh of relief and shucked the hoodie back on so I could focus on fitting the new colour film correctly onto the sprockets and winding it on.

I'd spent so long fiddling with my camera that I didn't realise half of the group was leaving for the tidal pools until they were nearly into the trees. "Are you coming, Isobel?" Jessica called, lagging behind for a second but hurrying to catch up with Mike when I waved at her and jogged to join the group.

The tidal pools were a little hike from the main beach, through more lush forest and over mossy rocks and tree roots that must have specifically grown to trip up the humans that dared to enter their grotto. Distracted by my camera but not wanting to get too far behind, I slipped and grabbed at the trees a few times, before I finally made it out to the clearer expanse of rocks pitted with little oceany ponds.

This is what I came to see. Every time I'd visited these pools with Dad and the Black family, I'd been mystified by the life and color inside each one. I'd meant to look at a bunch to see all the different little sealife homes, but the largest of the pools held a little black eel with a worried look on his face, darting to and fro as he realised over and over again (do eels have goldfish minds?) that he was stuck here for the foreseeable future.

"It's okay, buddy," I told him, carefully holding the camera above the surface of the water. "The tide's not far away, you'll be out soon." He didn't seem to hear me, so I focused instead on the slowly moving shells on the edges of the rock, the waving multicoloured anenomes, the microscopic schools of nearly see-through fish that swum quickly between bunches of weed.

One of the boys called out that he'd found a dead crab, and I peeked at it as he flung it around on a stick, its shell cooked orange by the sun and its softer parts already claimed by scavenger birds.

Back in the pool, a tiny brown crab no bigger than a milk bottle lid scurried out from under a rock to the safer, darker confines of a miniature cave at the side. My camera was too slow to catch him.

When we returned to the campfire, a bunch of teenagers from the reservation had joined our group, and over lunch (who on Earth had made all these sandwiches? I felt terrible for not bringing anything) they chatted with us. I wondered if any of them were Jacob Black, and thought that maybe one of the younger boys did look sort of familiar. They all had similar long black hair and coppery skin that I would have died for, but the familiar one grinned at me after the second lot of hikers had departed for the rock pools.

"Hello, Isobel Swan."

"You're Jacob," I said, trying not to phrase it like a question and shaking his outstretched hand. "Hey, it's been a while. Charlie talks about you all the time."

Jacob's even white teeth gleamed as he smiled again. "So how do you like the truck?" He asked, settling down beside me on the log.

I nodded and threw my last bite of sandwich out to the sand for the seagulls to fight over. "It's great! Were you the one that cleaned it up for me?"

Jacob nodded. "I was so relieved when Charlie bought it. My dad wouldn't let me work on building another car when we have a perfectly good vehicle right there."

"No offence," I joked, because in the two seconds we'd been speaking, I sensed he could handle my lame humour slightly better than either Mike or Edward, "but I think the truck suits me better."

"You're right," Jacob said, nodding, before we were interrupted.

"You know Isobel, Jacob?" Lauren asked in a fake-polite voice from across the fire.

Jacob's easy smile broke out again as he explained, and I wondered why I hadn't bothered to catch up with Billy and his family since I'd been in town. Jacob seemed like he'd be a good guy to hang around with… although, I thought, surprising myself with my first thoughts of Edward all day, he didn't have Edward's amazing bedroom hair and intense eyes.

"Oh Izzie," Lauren called again (WHAT? Who gave her permission to call me that?), "I was just saying to Tyler that it was too bad none of the Cullens could come out today. Didn't anyone think to invite them?"

Oh, so _that_ was her problem. I was quickly formulating a snide response when another guy from the reservation butted in. "You mean Dr. Carlisle Cullen's family?"

"Yes," Lauren said, looking like she was trying to hide her surprise, "do you know them?"

"The Cullens don't come here," he responded, frowning.

The guy's tone was deadly serious, and his manner left a strange impression on me. The Cullens don't come here? Did they have some sort of blood feud? So intense.

I shook my head quickly and stood up, stretching my legs. "Jacob. Did you want to come for a walk?" I needed to get away from Lauren, and I wondered if I could sneakily find out more about Edward's family. They did have such a weird sort of stigma around them, and I was curious to know why. Had they run over an Elder in one of their expensive cars and been banned from the reservation? Did they accidentally have a tea party in a sacred Indian site? Did one of Edward's brothers, under the influence of too much gin, drunkenly expose himself to an underage Quileute girl at the very fire pit where we sat? Who knew?

I, Isobel the Spy, was going to find out.

"Man, that guy was really serious," I said lightly as Jacob joined me out on the sand. "The Cullens don't come here, huh? That almost gave me goosebumps."

"Yeah, that's Sam," Jacob said, flicking a piece of seaweed at the gulls hovering a few feet away. "He can be kind of intense."

"I'm not sure I understand what everyone here has again the Cullens." I shrugged, and picked up a long stick that had washed onto the shore. I drew a smiley face in the sand, and Jacob grinned and bent to add some hair made out of seaweed.

"Edward's my lab partner in Biology," I added conversationally. "He gave me a ride home the other day, he seemed really nice."

Jacob straightened up quickly, his face stony. "You got in a car with him?"

I shrugged. "Is that a big deal?"

"You should stay away from the Cullens, Isobel," Jacob said in a low voice, and my skin bloomed into goosebumps. "They're…" He drifted off, opened his mouth as if to say something else, then shook his head. "Never mind."

"Well, now I'm even more intrigued," I said, and bit my lip.

Jacob was quiet for a second, adjusting the messy green hair on my smiley drawing.

After a minute, he raised his eyes to me. "Do you like scary stories?"

"I guess so," I said slowly, amazed at the sudden change in his demeanour.

He leant against the sticking-up roots of another driftwood tree, and I perched on the main length of the weathered wood and watched Jacob, pieces of his long black hair being teased out of its ponytail by the wind that was gradually picking up.

"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from - the Quileutes, I mean?"

I shook my head no.

Jacob smiled slightly. "Well, there are lots of legends, some of the claiming to date back to the Flood - supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the taller trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark." His smile broadened, as if to show me how little stock he put in the histories.

"Another legend claims that we descended from wolves - and that the wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them. Then... there are the stories about the cold ones." His voice dropped lower on the last two words.

I didn't say anything, but willed him with my eyes to continue.

"There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land. My great-grandfather was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf - well," he said, gesturing wildly, "not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"So werewolves are real," I said in a low, teasing voice. "And they have enemies?"

"Only one." Jacob's dark eyes looked directly into mine. "The cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did - they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces."

He winked at me, and I felt myself blush.

Wait, no. Isobel the Spy shouldn't let herself get distracted by a cute boy or spooked by a story. "So," I said, trying to follow what he was saying, "if these new cold ones weren't dangerous…?"

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilised like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist."

For some reason, Edward's twisted face from that first day came to mind, and I shook my head to repel the image.

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans," Jacob continued. "They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."

"Not great news for your wolf friends," I mused. "So did this have anything to do with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your great-grandfather met?"

"No." Jacob paused dramatically. "They are the same ones."

My face froze, but I'm not sure what expression it was reading as.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, Carlisle. He'd been here and gone before your people had even arrived."

A flash. The doctor's cold hands played across my scalp in the hospital.

"What are they?" I managed, forcing my eyes to blink and look back up at Jacob. "What are the cold ones?"

He smiled darkly.

"Blood drinkers," Jacob replied. "Your people call them vampires."


End file.
